


For Keeps

by Sonny



Series: WORD : GAMES (Redux) [3]
Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-03-10
Updated: 2009-03-10
Packaged: 2017-10-16 20:42:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/169134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sonny/pseuds/Sonny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>for the word "tired"...</p>
            </blockquote>





	For Keeps

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to Mom... because no matter how hard I try, I will never be able to "know"... and that is something I have to live with. Being able to write ficlets like this helps with the not-knowing...
> 
> Peace...

**  
** **Word** **is... TIRED**

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

  
**He couldn't remember ever feeling** _**this** _ **tired** **before...**

He was remembering a lot of things, lately. Like his first kiss-- _Bobby Caldona_ \--behind the football bleachers, catching a quick smoke. The older boy had been a bad seed, riding a motorcycle to school with the air of James Dean-- _live young, die fast and leave a beautiful corpse_ . 

He even recalled his first gay experience in vivid details. It had always made him snicker because it had also brought out his first "straight" experience. Then came the memories of having to act hetero through most of his blossoming teen to young adult years. His second gay experience had taught him he wouldn't ever choose _not_ to be who he was always meant to be. 

He had jumped at the chance for New York City. Full scholarship and the _**city that never sleeps** _ at his feet. He was in paradise the minute he reached the bridge, crossing Jersey into the New York City islands, showing off the striking skyline. Twin towers, the Empire State building and structure after structure, jutting upward, phallic-shaped and sturdy, pointing toward Heaven--it was a near biblical moment for him. 

_**One he would never forget, not even now when he wanted nothing more than to shut his eyes and drift away...** _

Those memories often were soured by the disappointment and almost-emotional and near-mental breakdown of his favorite older sister. She had run away from home-- _their old life in their childhood home_ \--first. Got knocked up (on purpose) and decided to keep the baby, starting to work two-- _sometimes three_ \--jobs to survive as a single mom. 

Their plan had been to live together. Always. But when New York City came calling he had thought one would be a fool to ignore the opportunity. She wouldn't understand, probably _never_ would. This choice having become the bone of contention between the closer-than-close siblings--the sister often treating her baby brother like her own child. Well, she _had_ raised him, like a mother, for most of his life. 

She had cursed him, claiming that New York City was just a _place_ and would never fill any of his empty spaces inside. In defiance to make it work and last, he _had_ tried. Even if he would ever find himself homeless and living in the gutter. He had certainly never given his sister the satisfaction of being right, though she turned out to be. 

New York had become his Heaven and Hell-- _his Garden of Eden_ . The gorgeous gay boys of SoHo, Chelsea and Greenich Village. The off- _off_ \- _**off** _ Broadway dancers and twenty-four lounge singers. There had always been something-- _some_ _**one** _ \--to tempt him back to the Big Apple. 

The city was where he had met his greatest, and only, love of his life. The man who had re-awakened, but then had ended up shatteringhis heart for anyone else, leaving him in tatters without a care. Years later, there had been a certain satisfaction-- _an inner peace_ \--in being the only one by his side when he died. When the dreaded "gay man's disease" threatened to cripple their entire culture in one huge sweep. There was a heavy responsibility not found anywhere else of taking the reigns of another's death and immersing with both feet into the experience. 

_**Seemed ironic that in the last few hours of his own passing, he would find solace in the dreadful remembrance...** _

The very next day of losing his one-n-only love he had called his estranged sister and began to spend quality time with the second-greatest, and best, love of his life--his nephew, Michael. 

_God_ ... he could recall the _very_ day--so vividly--when true light and peacefulness had entered his world. He had never known a newborn to come out of the womb with all that hair. It had no direction or purpose, never held a style and at any moment would "spike" upward for no reason whatsoever. But it was the softest hair ever felt, like pure silk. 

_**He rubbed his fingers together, almost able to feel the smooth texture...** _

One tiny baby hand had reached out to grasp his fingers and he had felt a part of himself being stolen, never to be given back. He hadn't thought he would want to, ever. He knew this would be his once-n-a-lifetime shot at fatherhood, having a "son" of his own. There had been such such pain when leaving the baby's side, returning to New York City and things would never be any different when his siter and nephew would come visit him in his tiny, cramped hole-in-the wall apartment. 

_**He was recalling the exact second he learned of his fateful diagnosis...** _

Hadn't cared squat about himself. He only knew he had two people to live for. He could never forget that. Coming back to Pittsburgh, returning into the family fold, he thought the goal of survival would be much easier. _It wasn't_ . His sister was back in mother-hening mode and he knew his sickness would no longer be _his own_ . Sch was the case when he had slipped into a coma for a week, when he had thought that his "time" had come up. Soon after he knew he was only living on borrowed time--any moment he could go, every moment more precious and worthwhile than the last. 

~*~ 

Vic was able to make it to his recliner. No idea of the time. TV was on, illuminating the darkness of the small living room. He kept shutting his eyes, doing some of those deep breathing exercises he had learned while scuba diving off the Miami Coast. He reached for the cordless extension, licking his dry lips as he scrolled through the _address book_ of numbers to call with the simple press of one button. 

First thing first was to patch things up with Sis-- _can't leave her hanging with their fighting over their heads_ . But she wasn't answering her cell or the home phone--the extension just kept ringing and ringing. _Damn,_ she was either ignoring him or off working another double shift at the diner to take her mind off her troubles. 

As the next wave of exhaustion hit, the pain began to hum through his body. He wanted to call Michael next, but accidentally dialed one of Brian's numbers. The connection wasn't clear, but it sounded like someone picked up on the other line. He could heard Brian's curt tone of greeting. 

Vic thought he may have spoken--quite a few words. In his own mind he was coherent, but in reality it was some weird breathing and some gasps for air. He wanted to let Brian know so he could pass the message along to Michael. 

_**"... tell that boy I love him... and I love you too, son..."** _

Vic hung up, but in actuality the other end hung up, ending the call--his own line remained connected until the dial tone was reached. Lucky for him, as he was slowly drifting into unconsciousness, the battery on his phone was dying. It would eventually fall to his lap, tucking between his thigh and the arm rest cushions. 

He didn't know when he had pushed back to sit in recline mode, but he could see the tips of his slippered feet. He knew he didn't have much more time left because the channel he was watching was signing off with the American eagle and flag, playing an instrumental version of the "Star Spangled Banner". 

Most importantly, out of the corner of his right eye, he could see his dead ex-lover--the greatest, and only, love of life... the one he was supposed to grow old with and die beside. 

_**He** _ was in Vic's kitchen. 

"-- _**fuck me** _ _\--_ " 

Like a cool, yet warming breeze on the cusp of the seasonal change from Spring into Summer, Vic felt the gentle caress to his face. 

_"Are you ready?"_

"-- _**no** _ \--" He was crying, tears streaming down on his face. So hard, he never thought he would stop. So constant, he knew he would have a dull residual headache. No reason for those tears, except selfishly. 

No more time left--no more breath to catch--no more heart to beat--just _no more..._

_"I know you're scared. I was too. But there's no reason to be. I'm_ _**here** _ _. We're together again like we always promised."_

"-- _**but there's still so much to** _ \--" 

_"You've done it all, baby. Everything you could possibly do. It's_ **their** _turn now. Time to shut off all the lights... and come to bed."_

Vic opened his eyes and stared ahead, up at the ceiling. "-- _**he'll be so alone** _ \--" His last passing thought was about Michael--and Brian. 

_"No. No, he won't. You've made sure he would never feel that way again."_

"-- _**I-I-I thought this would be different** _ \-- _**thought I'd be more prepared** _ \-- _**there's so much to say, to do** _ \--" 

_"You can't think of them anymore, think of yourself now. No more pain... no more fear of loneliness."_

"-- _**I met someone new** _ \-- _**he makes me happy** _ \-- _**we** _ \--" 

_"I know. He was good for you, for the time you had left."_

Vic felt his hand being taken, gripped strong. 

_"Come on. There's so much more to see and do. So many people are waiting to see you again. It's time to move on."_

"-- _**I can't come back?** _ \--" 

_"No. Not this time. You can check in, from time to time. But this one's for keeps."_

"-- _**I know you told me not to be, but I'm still scared** _ \-- _**I just don't know, you know** _ \--" 

_"You trust me, right? You know I'd never lie to you. Just hold my hand a little tighter, I'll show you a way to a better life."_

As Vic let himself be dragged off the recliner, he took one last look back. He watched the empty vessel of his old self still reclined in the chair--the TV screen in the multi-colored test pattern and the high-pitched ring announcing everything was over... like a televised network flatline... 

_**"... wait..."** _

_**~*~** _ **the end** __


End file.
